I can't get no satisfaction
by out of the ashes
Summary: After the altercation with shifter!Dean Sam isn't quite Sam and all Dean wants to do is help his brother. Warning for past rape, violence, abuse. While there is none of that here it still might be triggering to some folks. Unofficial sequel to Val Creative's story Satisfaction. This story won't make much sense unless you read that first. WINCEST.


After the altercation with shifter!Dean Sam isn't quite Sam and all Dean wants to do is help his brother.

This fic is the unofficial sequel/remix/whatever you wanna call it of Val_Creative's story Satisfaction. It won't make much sense unless you read that first. Thank you, sweetie, for letting me write this! You're the best!

Contains a character dealing with PAST rape, violence and abuse. It's a hurt/comfort, angsty schmoop kind of story with PTSD type things going on.

Oh, and also: wincest and a first kiss.

Something was wrong with Sam.

Dean knew the shifter had almost killed his brother and that alone was enough for him to wish the fucker was alive so he could gank it again, but there was something beneath the surface, burning to be named. At first he didn't notice that Sam couldn't hold his gaze. He just wanted to get him _away_ so he could put him back together.

Then they finally stopped at a seedy little motel and Sam flinched away from his touch for a moment before going frozen and letting Dean tend to his wounds. And okay, they might not be normal adults with an apple pie childhood, but that sure as fuck wasn't normal, even for them.

Sam worried his bottom lip, looked anywhere but at Dean. "Hey Sammy, I need you to listen to me for a second, all right? Whatever that thing told you, whatever it did...that wasn't me." It was the closest he could get to acknowledging the change in Sam and what may or may not have happened and he knew it wasn't enough.

Sam jerked as if he'd been slapped. Good. At least he was _reacting_, Jesus. "I know," he said. "It's no big deal, man. It's over, the shifter's dead. We're safe...you saved me. Again."

But he wouldn't look him in the eyes, god dammit.

The overwhelming need to know and understand grew until he felt the desire would light him up from the inside and melt him down to embers.

A week later and things hadn't changed for the better. They were in another nameless buttfuck nowhere town, in another shitty motel room. Sam was on his laptop, sitting on his bed and leaning his head against the wall.

Dean sat on the bed closest to the door, looking at Sam through lowered lashes as he finished his burger. "Dude, stop bein' a princess and eat your damn food. Whatever you're working on can wait, nerd boy."

Sam twitched at the sound of Dean's voice, glanced up quickly and then looked away, licked his lips. "All right."

No bitchface, no argument, not even a "jerk".

Sam took the same amount of time between bites, not inhaling his food but not tasting it either. He was non-reactive- up until Dean decided it was time to clean his guns.

His face paled, jaw clenched, eyes widened and then went perfectly blank. This happened in seconds, but Dean saw it all.

"Gonna shower," Sam choked out quickly, making a beeline for the bathroom before he could even think of a reply.

/

A few days later it happened again, this time while Dean was using his knife to make them sandwiches with extra pickles and tomato and shit, just the way Sam liked.

The hair on Dean's skin stood on end and he knew Sam was staring. Not at Dean, no. It wasn't as simple as that. He was looking at the fucking knife in his hand, his grip on it, something. Their eyes met briefly and Sam swallowed hard. "Actually, you know, I'm not so hungry after all. Gonna head to the cafe down the street that's open 24 hours, it's got free wifi. Don't wait up."

Sam ran off before Dean could say anything. Goodbye, _sorry_, god, he was so fucking sorry. He should have been there; he should have found him sooner.

Dean finished a bottle of jack, waited for Sam to come back to him. He fell asleep waiting.

/

A whimper pulled Dean from unconsciousness. He heard it again in the ink-black room, just a few feet away. "No—don't," Sam choked out. "Dean please, don't. I'm sorry, I didn't mean-_ please_ stop it."

A disgusted shiver ran through him. Sam was having a fucking nightmare about him. No, not him, the goddamn shifter. Sam would never think Dean would-

The whimpers turned into full on yells.

Dean couldn't sit back idle and do nothing. He threw the covers off, closed the distance between him and Sam. Grabbed his shoulders and gently shook him. "Sam wake up, it's just a nightmare, it isn't real...please, c'mon Sammy, snap out of it."

Sam gasped, lashed out a bit and almost hit Dean in the face before going still. "D-dean? What're you doin'?"

He let go, sat back, but didn't move back to his own bed. "You were yelling in your sleep. Had to wake you, Sammy."

"I'm sorry."

Anger hit him, white-hot. "No, Sam. Not your fault, none of it. You hear me?" He gentled his voice, guilt crashed into him in waves when he felt Sam shake against him. "Just...tell me what to do."

"Could you stay? Until I fall asleep? You don't have to, but-"

"If that will help you sleep that's all I need to hear. I'm right here. Not gonna let anything happen to you."

Sam sighed, shifted a little so his thigh brushed Dean's side, caused him to suck in his breath and hold it. _Careful, careful Winchester._

"Thanks Dean." He was asleep within minutes and curled in closer as time went on, searched out Dean's heat.

Dean should go. Head back to his bed, but he was rooted to the spot. He leaned in, ghosted his lips against Sam's cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Sam let out a little 'mmm', reached out and grabbed onto Dean.

That was fine. There was no place he'd rather be than right next to Sam, but there was no way in hell he was gonna say that girly shit out loud.


End file.
